Animal
by kmou
Summary: M/L. Max Evans is an alien and was captured by the FBI. But what if it took the gang longer to break Max out? What if he was in the White Room for a year? -IN PROGRESS-
1. Prologue The Kidnapping That Motivated

**Title:** Animal  
**Author:** Kylie  
**Pairings:** Max/Liz.  
**Rating:** R to NC-17.  
**Summary:** Max Evans is an alien and was captured by the FBI. But what if it took the gang longer to break Max out? What if he was in there for a year? Inspired by the Roswell episode, "The White Room" (Season 1, Episode 20) and the song, "Animal I Have Become" by Three Days Grace.  
**Category(s): **Angst, Drama, Romance, Character Death, Strong/Graphic Sexual Content, Violence, Strong Language, OOC, CC.  
**Warnings:** This story contains content that may be offensive such as torture, cursing, murder, sex, and violence.  
**Disclaimer: **I do not own Roswell or any other character, location, or whatever mentioned in the works of Melinda Metz or created by Jason Katims, FOX, WB, and UPN.  
**Author's Note**: This is going to be a pretty short story. Nothing exceeding twenty parts. Enjoy!

**Author's Note: **This takes place in the episodes "Max to Max" (Season 1, Episode 19) and "The White Room" (Season 1, Episode 20), and there are lines taken from these episodes.

* * *

_I can't escape this hell.  
So many times I've tried,  
But I'm still caged inside.  
Somebody get me through this nightmare.  
I can't control myself._

_So what if you can see the darkest side of me?  
No one will ever change this animal I have become.  
Help me believe it's not the real me.  
Somebody help me tame this animal.  
(This animal, this animal)  
_

_I can't escape myself.  
(I can't escape myself)  
So many times I've lied.  
(So many times I've lied)  
But there's still rage inside.  
Somebody get me through this nightmare.  
I can't control myself._

_So what if you can see the darkest side of me?  
No one will ever change this animal I have become.  
Help me believe it's not the real me.  
Somebody help me tame this animal I have become.  
Help me believe it's not the real me.  
Somebody help me tame this animal._

_Somebody help me through this nightmare.  
I can't control myself.  
Somebody wake me from this nightmare.  
I can't escape this hell._

_(This animal, this animal, this animal, this animal,  
this animal, this animal, this animal)_

_So what if you can see the darkest side of me?  
No one will ever change this animal I have become.  
Help me believe it's not the real me.  
Somebody help me tame this animal I have become.  
Help me believe it's not the real me.  
Somebody help me tame this animal.  
(This animal I have become.)  
_"**Animal I Have Become," Three Days Grace**.

* * *

**Prologue – The Kidnapping That Motivated John Walsh**:

_**  
John Walsh**__ – is the host of the television show, America's Most Wanted. His six-year-old son, Adam's kidnapping and murder had motivated Walsh to start a campaign to help missing and exploited children._

_

* * *

_**  
**

"Where's Liz?" Max demanded, ignoring the dizziness about to take over him due to all the mirrors in the room. Everything was spinning. The darkness tricked his eyes into seeing what was really not there. He saw himself over and over again. Turning right, turning left, it was just his face surrounding him. But it wasn't himself he was looking for.

Liz. She was the only thing on his mind. He needed to find her, get her out of here, and have her be safe. That's all he needed—for Liz to be safe and as far away as possible.

There were multiples of him everywhere, mimicking his movements. Almost disgusted with his own face, he finally found one of himself that did not move. Only one in the flesh was standing before him—Nasedo.

Nasedo had led him on this chase, taking the most valuable thing from him and ripping his world apart. He knew Max would come after him, but what Nasedo really wanted was to kill the FBI agents that were hunting after the King. What was it about this girl, this human, that made Max, previously known as Zan, so un-king like? Where was the brave king of Antar?

"What are you doing? Get out of here!" Nasedo yelled, pushing him out of his way.

Max grabbed his arm, tightening his grip around the man's wrist. "Where's Liz?" he demanded once again.

Nasedo wanted to punch him, but he remembered his place. He was just an underling, a servant, and Max Evans was the king. "Pierce doesn't care about her; he only wants me."

"He wants her too. He wants all of us!" he exclaimed. "I'm not leaving without her."

"Now is not the time to let some human get in the way of things, Max. I won't let him take you."

"MAX!" Liz cried out just as she ran by, finally finding him in the maze. She knew it was Max this time. Even with similar faces, she now knew how to tell them apart. Nasedo's Max was cold, stoic. But her Max, he radiated such emotion on his face.

He whipped his head around, feeling his heart slam in his chest at the sight of her. He found her! Ignoring Nasedo cursing, he rushed over to her only to be stopped by a glass wall. Placing his hand on the glass, he frowned. She was right there, so close yet so far away. "Liz, get out of here," he told her. He needed her safe. He'd give his life for her. He needed her out of this place.

"Not without you," she cried, placing her hand on the glass as if she were reaching for his hand. She had been tricked once, led away from him. She wasn't going to leave him now. They would leave together. She had been so scared before when she realized she had gone off with Nasedo. She feared she would never see Max again. Max. He had been her only thought as she sat with Nasedo in the car, as he chased her around the carnival. It was this moment that she knew she loved him, loved him more than words could express. No, she would not leave without him.

Seeing two men approaching him, she yelled, "Max, behind you!"

Giving Liz one last look of love, he commanded her to go. No longer in the presence of Nasedo who disappeared, he began to run. He stumbled into each glass wall, growing frustrated by the second. His hand began to hurt from slamming into the glass frames. He couldn't find his way out. He couldn't see the exit.

As his heart thudded harder, he couldn't help but fear for his own life, for Liz's life, for everyone's life. Was she safe? Would they be—

"Right there!" he heard one of the FBI agents cry out.

He panted heavily, still trying to find his way out. Just as he turned around the corner, he saw the light. It was the exit! He began to make his way out, but then he cried out as something hit his back and electrocuted him.

"AHHHHHH!" he grunted.

His world slipped out from under his feet and everything faded into black.

- - - -

"Liz, Liz!" screamed Isabel, catching sight of the petite brunette girl running in the crowd. "Where's—"

"They have Max!" Liz cried, cutting Isabel off. "They have Max!"

Dread filled them all. If the FBI had Max, what did this mean for them? What was going to happen to Max? Would he be tortured as they suspected—experimented on and then finally exterminated like a cockroach? Would they be next?

What was safe now?

Liz's fingers found their way into her hair and tangled it within her fingers. Her face scrunched up in horror. It was her fault that Max was captured. If it weren't for her, if she hadn't so blindly gone off with Nasedo, none of this would have happened. It wasn't supposed to turn out like this. He was supposed to be by her side right now. She didn't even... She didn't even get a chance to tell him how she felt! She began to sob only to have her cries be drowned out by the laughing crowds at the carnival.

Michael felt a chill go through him when he saw Liz so distressed. They all were horrified, shell-shocked, but no one as much as Liz. He took her into his arms, held her tightly, and let her sob into his chest.

They would get him back. No matter what it would take, they would get him back.

* * *

**To be continued**.

I wanted to wait a bit longer before I posted a new story, but I couldn't resist! ;]


	2. Chapter 1 The White Hell Where Demogorgo

**Warnings:** This chapter contains content that may be offensive such as cursing, murder, sex, and violence.  
**Disclaimer: **I do not own Roswell or any other character, location, or whatever mentioned in the works of Melinda Metz or created by Jason Katims, FOX, WB, and UPN.

**Author's Note: **There are lines taken from "The White Room" (Season 1, Episode 20).

* * *

**Chapter 1 – The White Hell Where Demogorgon Rules**:

_**  
Demogorgon**__ – According to Greek mythology, Demogorgon is the name of a pagan god or demon associated with the underworld and envisaged as a powerful primordial being. In John Milton's __Paradise Lost__, Demogorgon is the demon of Hell._

_

* * *

  
_

A faint humming woke him up. It was a mechanical humming, a sound that vibrated and bounced off of the walls. The cold tile numbed his cheek. He was not resting on a bed, not on a soft mattress either, but clearly on the ground. He slowly rolled over, hissing at the pain that burned his entire back. He rolled onto his side to get away from the stinging.

His eyes fluttered open. It was too bright. All he could see was pure white, and he groaned as his eyes burned. Where was he? What happened? Plopping his arm over his eyes, he waited for his eyes to adjust to the brightness.

As everything became clearer and clearer by the second, he opened his eyes to find himself trapped in four wall cell, completely drenched in white and alone.

He was no longer dressed in his clothes, but clothed in a hospital patient attire. He tugged on the thin flannel shirt, knowing it was doing a horrible job of keeping him warm. He felt almost naked despite the fact that he was clothed.

As he woke up a little more, his mind became more alert. He remembered what happened. Nasedo had taken Liz. Agent Pierce was hunting after Nasedo who was posing as him. And on his way of escape, he had been captured by the FBI.

Damn Nasedo. If it weren't for him, he wouldn't be here. Damn Tess. Damn his enemies. Damn his past. Damn it all to hell.

Worried about his own safety, he couldn't help but wonder if Liz was safe, if his family was safe, if his friends were safe. Were they captured? Dead? No, he had to remain optimistic. He had to believe they were all okay. He had to believe he was the only one taken.

He struggled up to his feet, his hands flat against the wall. He made a gurgle, trying to clear his dry throat. He craved water, anything cool to rush past his lips and revive him.

"Good morning, Max," said a familiar voice.

Max looked for the voice, but there was no one in the room with him. _Must be a speaker_, he thought.

"Where am I?" he asked, grimacing at the bitter taste in his dry mouth.

"Some place where no one can find you," the voice replied.

"Why am I here?"

"That's what I want to try to find out."

Max shook his head. "You've made a mistake."

The voice laughed. "I don't think so. You see, I know exactly what you are and now, you're going to tell me everything."

Max could feel a cold chill. This voice was not friendly at all. This voice told him that this person was an authority figure. One who commanded. This voice belonged to a man who was trained to torture, trained to do whatever it took to get what he wanted. This voice belonged to a person who enjoyed inflicting pain.

"I'm Max Evans. I live at 60-25 Murray Lane. You can call my parents."

There was a moment of silence before the voice spoke up again. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way."

He tensed at the threat. These were the very people he feared and watched out for. Like Isabel had once said, these people would cut him up, experiment on him, and exterminate him like a cockroach.

He didn't see any doors. No windows. No leaks of light from the outside. Just a white room. A white cell. The only color in this room was him and his grayish scrubs.

He tried to push some of the walls, hoping he would find the hidden door but nothing budged.

He was trapped.

"What is the name of your home planet?" the voice asked.

Stiffening, Max tried to calmly reply. "Earth."

A pause passed before the voice spoke. "Alright. The hard way, it is."

Max heard a hiss as a wall moved. A door! He tried to run towards the opening, but was quickly stopped by four men clothed in white. He tried to shove his way through but they pushed him away like he weighed nothing. One by one, they began to pile on him, holding him down by the arms and shoulders.

Max winced when he felt a needle plunge into his neck, injecting a foreign substance into his body.

He tried to break free from their grip when he saw two more men coming in, carrying in a chair. But whatever they gave him, it made his body heavy and his eyesight blurry.

"Plea—" He tried to speak but found himself unable to move his tongue.

As he began to lose unconsciousness, he heard the voice speak.

"Welcome to Hell, Mr. Evans. I hope you enjoy your very long stay here."

* * *

**To be continued**.


	3. Chapter 2 The Questions Darwin Would Ask

**Warnings:** This chapter contains content that may be offensive such as torture and violence.  
**Disclaimer: **I do not own Roswell or any other character, location, or whatever mentioned in the works of Melinda Metz or created by Jason Katims, FOX, WB, and UPN.

**  
Author's Note: **There may be lines and scenes taken from "The White Room" (Season 1, Episode 20).

* * *

**Chapter 2 – The Questions Darwin Would Ask**:

_**  
Charles Robert Darwin**__ – was a famous English naturalist who presented extensive evidence after much experiments that all species of life have evolved over time from common ancestors with a process he called natural selection._

_

* * *

  
_

Max struggled against the binds. He wasn't able to get away. He was unable to fight his way out of the room.

Agent Pierce was bent down in front of Max, just watching him. His cold light-blue eyes unnerved him. That little smirk on his lips made Max furious. Pierce was studying him, trying to find a flaw, a weakness, and most of all, detect fear on Mr. Evans' face.

"Now, now, calm down, Mr. Evans. Don't want to ruin that perfect body with all this useless fighting now, would we?"

Max didn't respond. He just stared at him.

With a sigh, Pierce stood up straight and began to circle around a bound Max Evans in the middle of the cell. Like a predator, he stalked his prey, waiting for the right moment to go in for the kill. And now that he had him, he was going to slowly get the truth from him, even if it meant torturing him and others, even if it meant killing.

"What is your real name?" he asked.

Max glared at him. He almost wished one of his alien powers was shooting rays out of his eyes so he could vaporize this evil man. He struggled once again. The binds were bolted down. He wasn't going anywhere.

"What is your real name?" Pierce asked again, clearly growing inpatient since a man of his status never had to repeat things before.

Silence.

"I will get answers, Mr. Evans. You can do this the easy way or the hard way."

"So I take it you're the bad FBI agent, then? Where's the good agent?" Max asked.

Pierce laughed, amused by how brave the teen was. Then he jutted forward, his face only inches away from Max's. His breathe touched Max's cheeks. "There are no good FBI agents," he snarled. He then snapped his fingers and men in white suits came in.

Max struggled some more, but it was useless. His hands and feet were bound to the chair. His head was held back by a strap over his forehead. The technicians began to attach white circles hooked up to wires on his skin.

"Please," he pleaded, trying to elicit sympathy from them. "Please help me. You don't have to do this." He stared at the men but they didn't even look at him. They just did their jobs.

Pierce smiled. His eyes crinkled with humor. "No one can help you, but me, Max. Do you mind if I call you, Max?"

"What do you want from me?" Max asked.

"Just answers, simple answers, Max. But I see you're going to give me a difficult time, so I might as well entertain myself."

When the technicians left, Pierce held a small remote in his hand. His thumb hovered over two buttons that were colored red and green. Two simple colors, two simple buttons, that held such power in his hands. He stared down at Max and pressed the green button.

Not sure what to expect, Max let out a shrilling scream as his body was suddenly shocked with electricity. His body wanted to arch upwards, but the bindings held him down to the chair. It was worse than when he was hit by a taser back at the carnival. His whole body burned, his nerves shooting fire across his muscles.

Pierce pressed the red button, stopping the machine, and Max was left wheezing in pain. "That was just a preview if you don't answer my questions."

"When I get out of here, I'm going to—," Max growled.

"Going to what? You're never leaving this place," Pierce said confidently.

Fearfully, Max almost began to believe this too. No, he had to hold onto the belief that his friends, his family, would break him out. He had to believe to stay alive.

"What is your real name?" asked Pierce.

"Max Evans," he answered.

The green button was pressed.

Max gritted his teeth, clenched his eyes, and tried not to scream when his body was shocked. His body arched up, but the cuffs around his body held him down again. He did not want to give Pierce the satisfaction of hearing him cry out in pain.

**Red**. The electrical shocks instantly stopped, but the pain remained in his body.

"What is your real name?"

"MY NAME IS MAX EVANS!" Max screamed, not knowing what this agent wanted from him. Max Evans was his name. He knew and acknowledged of no other.

"Where are you from?"

_Some alien planet in space_, he thought.

"Earth."

**Green**.

Max tried to curl up as best as he could, fighting against the pain, fighting against all that held him down. His body burned and buzzed with such boiling warmth that he might as well had been set on fire.

**Red**.

"What is your planet's name?"

_I don't know_.

"Ear-Earth," he breathed out, trying to catch his breath.

**Green**.

He thrashed in his seat. A wet layer formed all over Max's body, dampening his thin clothes to his skin. His hair clung to his forehead and the sides of his face. He could feel the beads of sweat form on his temple.

**Red**.

"Were you in the 1947 crash?"

_Yes_.

"NO."

**Green**.

The hairs on his arms and legs rose. His fingers and toes curled. The veins on his arms and legs were bulging. His wrists and ankles were red from pulling against the metal binds.

**Red**.

"Are there more like you?"

_Just four other ones that I know about_.

"NO!"

**Green**.

Goosebumps were all over his skin. His fingernails had dug into his palm, tearing the skin. Blood seeped underneath his fingernails and slowly ran its way down his hands.

**Red**.

"What is your purpose on Earth?"

_ I don't know_.

"Haven't decided yet. Haven't gone to college yet. Haven't done—"

**Green**.

Max's jaw clenched so bad that it felt like his teeth were ready to crack and fall out in pieces. He wanted to scream so badly. He wanted to open his mouth and yell. But screaming would not stop the pain. Screaming would only allow Agent Pierce to know he was hurting him.

**Red**.

"What powers do you have?"

_I can heal, change molecular structure, and form connections with certain people_.

"I don't have any!"

**Green**.

Max never felt such pain before in his life. The white circles on his skin felt as if they were cooking his skin. Just simple stickers with wires attached to them. They inflicted pain so easily. But he wouldn't show it. He refused to give in to this man.

Agent Pierce was impressed Max even lasted this long.

**Red**.

"How many people have you killed?"

_Killed? I have never killed, never shed blood. I heal_.

"None."

**Green**.

The questions went on and on. The shocks kept coming until Max couldn't help but scream with his entire body... arching, tightening, curling, burning.

**Red**.

**Green**.

**Red**.

**Green**.

**Red**.

Until he finally passed out in mid-scream.

* * *

**To be continued**.


	4. Chapter 3 The Living Conditions Hitler W

**Warnings:** This chapter contains content that may be offensive such as torture and violence.**  
Disclaimer: **I do not own Roswell or any other character, location, or whatever mentioned in the works of Melinda Metz or created by Jason Katims, FOX, WB, and UPN.

**  
Author's Note: **There may be lines and scenes taken from "The White Room" (Season 1, Episode 20).

* * *

**Chapter 3 – The Living Conditions Hitler Would Enforce**:

_**  
Adolf Hitler**__ – was an Austrian-born German politician for the Nazi Party, who believed in the superiority of the Aryan race over all other races. He blamed the Jews for Austria's crisis and declared them enemies of the Aryan race. He believed that Jesus Christ, an Aryan, fought against the Hews. Hitler used Christianity as his central motivation for his anti-Semitism._

_

* * *

  
_

Max shivered against the cold. There was no heat in his room, in his cell, in his jail. There was no chair, no bed, no blanket, no pillow. Only a small drain hole in the corner of his cell—that was his bathroom. He didn't even have a proper toilet.

The FBI weren't that kind enough to make him feel comfortable. They wanted him to suffer, they wanted him to break. They wanted him to feel trapped, to feel inhuman, and to feel unworthy of being comfortable.

How could humans like this exist? No matter how much he pleaded, cried, screamed—they did their jobs, acting like they couldn't even hear him. They had no compassion for him. They were cold just like his cell.

He wrapped his arms around himself and curled into a ball. His clothes did not keep him warm. In fact, he could probably take them off and wouldn't even feel the difference if he had them on.

Max tried using his powers several times, but the men in white... they injected him with a serum. A serum that suppressed the neurotransmitters in his cerebral cortex. It rendered him weak, powerless, and dizzy.

He licked his cracked lips with his rough tongue. God, he was so hungry, so thirsty. He couldn't even remember if he had been fed since he was thrown into this hell hole.

Trying to pick himself off the floor, he only dropped back down with a groan. Instead, he rolled onto his back, grunting at the bright light in his eyes.

It was lights on all the time, all day.

Day.

Lights on.

Night.

Lights on.

Lights always on.

Max didn't even know what day it was anymore.

- - - -

When Max awoke, he swore. It was as if someone had heard his most inner pleas. There was a tray of food before him. Food that was steaming. He scrambled to it like a mad man only to stop himself.

What if it was drugged? Filled with more of the serumt hat was blocking his powers? Perhaps it was poisoned. He knew Agent Pierce was the type of man sick enough to enjoy watching him eat himself to death.

But his stomach growled like never before. He couldn't even remember when he had been this hungry. He wasn't even hungry the night he was found in the desert as a little boy. God, he had taken so many things for granted.

Fighting against himself, Max knew he couldn't.

He was _so_ hungry.

He took the tray and pulled it near him.

Glop. It was pig's food. All mushy and gray-colored. There wasn't even an eating utensil. No spoon, no fork, no napkin, no drink. He was being forced to eat with his fingers, like an animal.

He gritted his teeth, picked up the tray, and threw it against the wall.

"NO!" he screamed.

Within ten minutes, the magical doors opened and the men in white marched in. Max backed into the corner of the walls, growling.

"NO!" he continued to yell. "NO, NO, NO!"

The technicians grabbed his arms, throwing Max to the ground but he gave them a fight. He punched one of them and kicked the other. But there was only so much fight left in his weak body before he lost his balance when one of them jumped onto his back and shoved him to the ground.

"Ahhhhh!!" he screamed when he felt one them inject something on the back of his neck. "You ba-bastards," he panted out just before he lost consciousness.

- - - -

"You've been a bad boy, Mr. Evans," said Agent Pierce as he watched Max blink hazily back to life.

Max wanted to speak. He wanted to ask what happened, but then he violently began to choke. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe!

"Calm down, Max," Pierce said, rolling his eyes.

When Max didn't stop and continued to make choking sounds, the agent screamed, "CALM DOWN!"

Max bared his teeth in pain, feeling tears slide out of his eyes and down the sides of his face. He bit down on the plastic tube that had been shoved down his throat while he was unconscious.

Pierce lightly slapped Max's cheek. "I go out of my way to make sure you're fed, to make sure you won't die, and you throw it back in my face? Well, maybe next time you'll eat what's given to you. Maybe you'll learn to obey!"

He fought against the white men, against the binds, but he had no strength to do anything damaging.

The machine hummed and began to pump the gray slush into the tube down his throat and into his stomach.

He could only muffle his cry around the tube.

- - - -

Time didn't exist in this room. There was no window, no clock, nothing. Minutes felt like hours, hours felt like weeks, and weeks felt like months. The lights were always on with a faint humming. The FBI couldn't even close the lights when night came around. They tortured him this way, not letting him have the pleasure of knowing how much time had passed since he had been taken.

His normal sleep routine was thrown off. He slept, still able to see the lights through his eyelids. This would cause any man to be delirious, to go crazy, but Max fell into the routine. He got used to the lights, the buzzing, the cold air. He got used to the hard floor. He made do.

The only thing he was really aware of was how greasy his hair was, how oily his body felt, how he even began to smell. His whole body itched, covered with a thin film of grease that made him feel very disgusted with himself. He was very scruffy around the face. If this continued, he would soon be sporting a full beard.

Yes, Max Evans was filthy. Absolutely filthy.

But there was no shower in here. Just that damn drain hole for him to do his business. God, when was it the last time he showered? On the outside, he had showered every damn day. It wasn't a chore or something pleasurable—it was just a necessity, one that he never gave much thought to, until this moment.

Now that his scalp itched, now that his fingernails looked blackened, now that he began to smell like he had just crawled out of a sewer, Max realized just how important showering was.

"You've picked up a smell, Mr. Evans," said an amused Pierce through the speakers.

"Fuck you," he growled as he sat up, leaning against a wall.

"Would you like a shower?"

Max glared and clenched his jaw. He would, but would he ever admit it? No way.

"I said, would you like a shower?" repeated Pierce.

"Why do you care what I want? If you did, you would LET ME OUT OF HERE!"

"You know I can't do that, Max."

"Then you could at least give me a blanket, a pillow, or maybe even a proper toilet!" he yelled.

"A shower it is then," said Pierce.

Max cursed. "Do you even listen to a damn word I say?"

Silence.

Then the doors opened. But these weren't the same doors that the men in white used to feed him. These were different. Were all the walls doors? Max had tried to beat down the walls, but nothing. He only bruised both of his shoulders when flesh collided with walls that did not move.

The technicians walked in, carrying a large hose.

"What are you going to do with that?" asked Max as he backed into a corner. "What are you going to—"

One of the men turned on the hose, letting loose a large spray. The pressure of the water pushed him into the corner of the walls and kept him there. The stream of water had the same strength a fire hose had, and it hurt.

"STOP!" he shouted. He tried to block the water with his powers, but he had none. He simply had his hands but they were useless. He closed his eyes and tried to fight against the water, but it was too strong. His body would be bruised by the time this ended.

The man carrying the hose soaked him down and once Max was fully wet, more men came in with scrubs in their hands. They held him down, ignored his yells, tore off his clothes and scrubbed him raw until his skin turned red, until his skin had developed red patches all over.

He could only scream, but they didn't care. They couldn't hear him. They held him down like he wasn't even struggling. They looked at him as if he was a monster. Their cold gloved-hands touched him, and he was repulsed.

From behind the walls, Agent Pierce laughed at the sight.

"This will teach you to eat when you've been given food, to shower when given the chance, to obey when told to do something," he spoke.

* * *

**To be continued**.


	5. Chapter 4 The Authorization The US Dep

**Warnings:** This chapter contains content that may be offensive such as cursing, murder, torture, and violence.  
**Disclaimer: **I do not own Roswell or any other character, location, or whatever mentioned in the works of Melinda Metz or created by Jason Katims, FOX, WB, and UPN.

**  
Author's Note: **There are lines and scenes taken from "The White Room" (Season 1, Episode 20). Happy Holidays, everyone! =D

* * *

**Chapter 4 – The Authorization The U.S. Department of Justice Gave To The FBI**:

_**  
The Federal Bureau of Investigation (F.B.I.)**__ – was created due to the issue that states had no power to regular interstate commerce. They uphold the law through the investigation of violations of federal criminal law, to protect the United States from foreign intelligence and terrorist activities, to prove leadership and law enforcement assistance to federal, state, local and international agencies, and to perform these responsibilities in a manner that is responsive to the needs of the public and is faithful to the Constitution of the United States_.

* * *

Agent Pierce simply wanted to break Max Evans. He wanted to tear this false human apart to reveal the true monster inside. He wanted to know everything Max knew. He wanted knowledge. He wanted power.

But Max did not surrender easily. He hadn't given in to Pierce. No matter what torture he inflicted, Max would always fight back. Almost in awe, Pierce wondered what kept this alien going. Most would surrender, beg for death, but he had yet to do any of those.

"This is amazing, Sir. Just amazing. _He_'s amazing," exclaimed the scientist. As the man, whom most would define as a geek, studied the blood and cells the technicians had collected, he was in absolute amazement.

"Why, thank you. I know I'm amazing," gritted Max. Anything to piss Pierce off, he did it. He didn't care. After all the hell the agent had put him through, he tried to find ways just to anger him. He would never ever tell him what he knew.

Pierce and the scientist ignored Max's comment. "They don't make sense," replied Pierce.

"Exactly!" said the man. "His bone structure, organs, circulator and pulmonary system, it's all completely human. Everything, but his blood cells... They're not—"

"Not human," Pierce finished with a nod. As he stared at the medical films, he turned to Max. "Still want me to call your parents? I told you, Max; I know what you are."

"And what am I?" Max asked.

"A killer" was all the agent stated.

- - - -

Max gasped loudly for oxygen as he was pulled out of the tank of water. He winced as Pierce's fingers curled around the strands of his hair, keeping a tight hold on him. His eyes burned; the water washed away his eyes' natural moisture.

"Delta, Colorado, 1962. Ring any bells?"

"No," Max hoarsely growled.

The agent glared and pushed Max's head back into the large metal barrel. He submerged the boy's head and kept him down... just long enough till Max's lungs burned.

He pulled him up. Max shook his head as if he was trying to shake the water off, sending water flying everywhere. Even on Pierce's clean pressed suit.

"Agent Lewis, the first head of this Special Unit was found dead."

"I don't know who you are talking about."

Dunked again and again. Agent Pierce would never be satisfied till he had answers.

"His internal organs had reached a temperature of 180 degrees Fahrenheit."

"Spontaneous combustion," Max spitted out.

"A silver handprint was found on his chest. What do you know about that?"

"Nothing!" he choked out before being drowned again.

Max screamed into the water as all the air was forced out of his lungs. He didn't have enough time to take a breath. Struggling against the hands, he could only see the bottom of the barrel. It was as if he was drowning in an ocean. It was dark, cold, empty, and painful.

- - - -

"Union City, Tennessee, 1967. Agent del Biano, Lewis's replacement. Jogging your memory yet?" asked Pierce.

Max pulled his wrists, wincing at the chains that bound him like a beast. The chains were screwed into the ceiling, causing his arms to look as if he was reaching upwards. His knees were raw after being forced to kneel on them for two hours. Who were these people this man was telling him about? What did it have to do with him?

"May 2nd, 1999. Agent Daniel Summers, the man who brought me into this unit, the man whose job I now have. Did you kill him too?"

"I have never killed anyone."

"So was it one of the others?"

Max twitched. "What others?"

The agent smirked. "You know, I might not have been around in 1947, but I know all about the crash. About the four aliens they captured: two dead, two alive. I've spent my entire career studying the documentation. Especially the three years of observation they made on the one held in captivity, right here in this room."

_Nasedo_, thought Max. "I thought you said there were four?"

"One of them escaped," Pierce said bitterly.

"Well then, if he did it, I'm sure I'll see the light of day soon."

Pierce flicked his hand.

A technician came in with a long leathery rope. In less than thirty seconds, Max was angled to the floor as the rope whipped across his back. He was unable to fall to the ground; the chains held him up.

He couldn't scream. He wouldn't. Couldn't. So he bit on his lower lip, tasting blood.

_**Crack!**_

"Careers have been destroyed because of you, Mr. Evans. People have died. Good people."

"I know nothing about that!" Max replied, wincing at the line the rope made on his back.

_**Crack!**_

The agent bristled as the sound of the leather making contact on Max's skin followed by a low, long grunt of pain. Max's resistance to scream made Pierce tingle with delight.

"You see, I'm part of this Special Unit. Now there are only a few of us left. You killed most of us, and those are just the victims we know about. We know exactly how dangerous you are."

"I've never killed anyone," Max hissed. His back seared with pain. His fingers curled into his palm. His eyes throbbed from being shut so tight.

_**Crack!**_

"We know there's more like you. Five years of lies, murder, and deceit. We will find them. We may be an inferior life form to you, but nothing will stand in my way of protecting this country."

Max hung limply. With a shaky grin, he said, "Good luck then."

"Well, luck is indeed on my side. I captured you, didn't I?" Pierce replied with a smirk.

_**Crack! **_

_**Crack!**_

Pierce watched as the blood pooled down the alien's back. This was only the beginning.

* * *

**To be continued**.

Have a happy holiday, everyone!


	6. Chapter 5 The Experiments: Good Science,

**Warnings:** This chapter contains content that may be offensive such as cursing, murder, sex, and violence.  
**Disclaimer: **I do not own Roswell or any other character, location, or whatever mentioned in the works of Melinda Metz or created by Jason Katims, FOX, WB, and UPN.

* * *

**Chapter 5 – The Experiments: Good Science, Torture, Or A Matter of National Security?**:

_**  
National Security**__ – is the requirement to maintain the survival of the nation-state through the use of economic, military and political power and the exercise of diplomacy._

* * *

Agent Pierce found himself enjoying Max Evans' pain too much.

If it had been a couple of years earlier, Pierce would've been scared by the emotions that boiled inside him. He would've feared the man he was becoming, feared the pleasure he received when the boy screamed.

But ever since these aliens, these filth, killed his mentor, he learned not to care anymore. His mentor was everything to him. Agent Daniel Summers was a brave brilliant FBI agent. He had been in the service for many years. He was quick, strong, and intelligent. He could shoot almost anything from amazing distances and hit bull's eye. Summers took him in, helped him become the man he was today. Summers was like the father he never had. And this creature took him away from him. When news reached him saying Summers was dead, it was like Pierce had died inside. His teacher was gone. The one person he would give his life up for was gone.

For revenge on Summers' death, Pierce performed almost ever torture technique he could think of on the monster. He wanted information; he needed it. It was no longer just about protecting people, protecting Earth. He needed the power these aliens had to offer. He needed to inflict pain on this creature in honor of Summers's name.

As he watched through the two-way mirror, he smiled as his eyes roamed all over Max's body.

Lying on the ground, Max's body was battered like a rag doll. He had long cuts down his back from the whip. His ears were clogged and his eyes were red from being dunked in the water repeatedly. There was a flesh wound from a gunshot on Max's leg but it was wrapped in gauze, the blood now soaking through. There were various sized burn marks on his arms and long jagged cuts from a knife down his chest. There was even a purple and red bruise on his upper cheek.

This boy had been through hell and it pleased Pierce to know it. Max Evans' pain electrified him. It brought him to life. Max's screams, cries, tears, and the blood—it all turned Pierce on.

As he watched the boy, he felt his cock become rock hard. His fingers ached to sooth the organ, but he held off. He had a job to do.

He eyed the female agent not too far away. Red-headed, sparkling green eyes, curvy, long legs... Yes, she would do well to please him later.

Agent Daniel Pierce was not a bad looking man nor was he a overly gorgeous man either. He was easy on the eyes. Dark brown hair, icy blue eyes, and a firm jaw. His body exuded authority, masculinity. His hands were large and thick. His frame was broad and strong. No, Pierce was not a bad looking man at all. Women were always drawn to him, and he took advantage of that.

He made a mental note to flirt with that red-haired agent later. He wanted to push her up against the wall and take her from behind. He wanted to hold her breast in his hand while he thrust inside her. He wanted to grip her by the neck, hearing her choking gasps. He wanted to make her feel dirty and enjoy it. Yes, he would fuck her good.

Looking away when an agent walked past him, he let out a breath to calm his body down. He pressed his hand against a monitor and it made a beeping noise as it scanned his fingerprints. As the door opened, he stepped through quickly. The door shut close with a bang. He didn't even bother to hide his erection.

"Back so soon?" Max grimaced as he tried to sit up.

"Always," Pierce replied with a smirk.

- - - -

Max was back in a chair, bounded tightly. How could he fight off the technicians at this point? His body was wounded from head to toe. How could he move with all these cuts, these burns, these holes in his body? He was surprised he was still alive. Only one thing kept him going: the idea of seeing Liz Parker when he got out of here.

Her beautiful smile, her soft skin, her glowing hair... He could see her so clearly with every wound inflicted on his body. Her face became clearer and clearer with each hit, each cut. He could see her lips slowly curve upwards, her pink cheeks puffing up, her eyes glistening with happiness.

Liz. Oh god, Liz.

He closed his eyes and smiled on the inside. _You're what's keeping me alive. You, just you_, he thought.

"Uh uh, don't fall asleep on me now, Max. We have some work to do," said the agent.

Max opened his eyes, finding his mental image of Liz destroyed when Pierce spoke. All he saw was this man's ugly sinister face. "I have nothing to say."

"Perhaps. But that doesn't mean I still won't hurt you."

"What's the point? You know I have nothing to say." _Because I won't tell you_, Max thought. "Because I _have_ nothing to tell you. All your questions, your stupid useless questions... I don't have answers to them."

"Ah, see, that's just what you want me to believe."

"You're crazy. You're a sick deranged man," Max spat out.

"I would do anything for my country," the agent replied. "To protect them from the likes of you."

"More like from the likes of you. You're inhuman."

Pierce laughed. "_I'm inhuman_? I'm a hundred percent human!"

"I'm more human than—" Max stopped himself.

"Say it, Max. Say it! You're more what? More than human than I am, is that what you were going to say?" he taunted.

Max clenched his jaw. He almost slipped up. _Shit_, he thought. He watched Pierce retrieve two tools on the surgical table. One was a very large scissors and the other looked like pliers. He pulled against the binds that held him down.

"Are you ready to admit you're an alien?" Pierce asked.

"Never," Max replied.

"Resistance is futile, Max."

Max left out a breathless chuckle. "Can't think of witty lines by yourself? You have to steal it from Star Trek?"

Pierce grabbed his left hand, forcing his fingers to spread out flat against the arm rest of the chair. He took the scissors and opened the blades so his index finger could rest in between.

Max gasped and winced in fear. He wouldn't!

"I will get answers, Max. I always get what I want," the agent said.

"You're an alien. Yes! _You're the alien!_" Max shouted.

Pierce tightened the blades around his finger, digging the sharp blades into the alien's skin. "Tsk tsk. You don't want to piss me off, Mr. Evans," he teased.

Max stared at him head on as Pierce bent down to his level. He could feel the blades. They were barely a centimeter away from actually breaking skin.

Pierce smirked when he saw Max's blazing eyes. He clamped the scissors a little more. "You really are an amazing race. So resilient," he said as he caressed the boy's cheek quite roughly.

Max hissed when he felt the blades dig into his flesh. His shoulders had involuntarily shifted to the left as if trying to get away from the pain. Clenching his jaw once again, he gathered all the saliva in his mouth and spat at Pierce.

The agent closed his eyes just in time as the spit collided with his face. It oozed past his eye and down his cheek. Droplets had sprayed across his other cheek. He wiped it off with the sleeve of his suit, staring at the glistening saliva on the clean fabric.

Pierce clenched his jaw. "Bad move, Max."

He removed the scissors and took the pliers instead.

In one swift move, he denailed Max's finger.

At the excruciating pain, Max's eyes slammed shut and gritted his teeth to stop his cry as the blood dripped from his finger.

* * *

**To be continued**.

I hope everyone had a great Christmas, and I hope you're having a great New Years!


	7. Chapter 6 The Result of Throwing A Shoe

**Warnings:** This chapter contains content that may be offensive such as cursing, murder, torture, and violence.  
**Disclaimer: **I do not own Roswell or any other character, location, or whatever mentioned in the works of Melinda Metz or created by Jason Katims, FOX, WB, and UPN.

**  
Author's Note**: A few of you have asked these questions—what is Liz and the gang doing in the meantime, and how much time has passed since Max was captured. Liz and the gang will have a chapter dedicated to what they have been doing during this time, but it will not be posted until a bit later. It will all be explained; don't worry. =]

As for how much time has passed, I think it is safe to assume that it has been possibly over a month or two. When I wrote this, I wasn't really concerned with hashing out proper dates. Just know that time has passed sufficiently with each chapter. As already written in the summary, the duration of Max in the White Room will be a year.

* * *

**Chapter 6 – The Result of Throwing A Shoe at the President**:

_**  
Muntadhar al-Zaida**__ – is an Iraqi broadcast journalism who serves as a correspondent for Iraqi-owned, Egyptian-based Al-Baghdadi TV. On December 14, 2008, al-Zaida threw his shoes at then-U.S. President George W. Bush during a Baghdad press conference. He suffered severe injuries as he was taken into custody and allegations have been made that he was tortured during his initial detention._

_

* * *

  
_

"Here's your chance," Pierce said as he unbuttoned his suit jacket. He carefully laid the black clothing on the ground and watched as Max rose to his feet.

"Why?" Max asked. It made no sense. It made absolutely no sense.

"Because I want to see if you can fight."

Agent Pierce was serious. He wanted Max to fight him.

_This guy is fucking nuts_, Max thought. "I will kill you," he replied.

He wanted to do more than just kill this man. He wanted to torture him just as he had tortured him. He wanted to hold the man by his neck, squeezing until there was no breath left in the agent. He wanted to see his face turn into a ghastly blue until there was no more life in his face. He wanted to hurt, so badly. Who cared about getting out of here; he just wanted to see this man dead.

Pierce smiled. "We'll see." He unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled them up, exposing his firm arms. "It's a slow day and I'm bored. You, after all, did spit in my face and I need a way to get all this anger out."

Max stared at him in disbelief. The agent was giving him a chance to hurt him, giving him a chance to possibly escape! But what was the motive? Surely the man didn't just want to fight just because Max spat on his face. There had to be some hidden agenda here. Did Pierce want him to expose himself? Accidentally use his powers on the man, if he was even able to? Were there agents on the other side waiting to attack? What was the purpose?

To be a federal agent, one needed certain skills. But to be a federal agent that belonged to an organization that technically didn't exist, a person needed more than just intelligence and good combat ability. He had to be superior in all areas. He had to be quick-thinking, assertive, responsible, intelligent, and commanding.

Agent Pierce was intelligent, perhaps too intelligent. His IQ was over 140; in other words, he was a damn genius. Daniel Pierce was good at following orders. He liked structure, order. That is why he became a FBI agent. It wasn't hard for him to become one. With his brain power, his fighting skills were fearless. He had no problem using his entire body to fight. He loved the pain he inflicted on others. Even the pain inflicted on him.

He would have no problem with a little fist fight with this alien.

Max made the first move by charging towards Pierce, sandwiching him against the wall.

Pierce grunted on impact and shoved Max off. He wanted to fight. He wanted to beat this boy into submission. He wanted to show him who was boss.

Max was at a clear disadvantage. The serum they injected in him daily made him physically weak. He could barely stand longer than ten minutes. Everything was always blurry, moving even if he stayed still. His head pounded while his throat clenched.

"Come on. Is that the best you can do, Evans?" Pierce taunted.

Max went for him again only to get punched. Pierce softly jumped up and down, pumping himself up. Max stumbled like a drunk man, trying to find his balance. He gritted his teeth and punched back.

The agent's head snapped to the side. A hiss slid from his thin lips. "Not bad," he commented.

Max punched him again, harder this time only to have Pierce laugh in return.

The sight of Agent Pierce smiling and laughing with a bloody mouth infuriated him. Anger and adrenaline now pumped into his system, fighting against the serum. He threw his fist into Pierce's face over and over again until the agent fell to the ground on his back. He wanted to wipe that smirk off his face. He wanted to take Pierce's face entirely off.

Pierce spat the blood out, wiping at his lips. "Now we're fighting."

He suddenly tackled Max, colliding his shoulder into the boy's waist. He tackled him up against the white tiled wall, grunting as Max hissed at the blinding pain in his shoulders.

Hands and legs flew at each other. Each struggled to get out of the other's grip. Nails dug into each other's skin, fists colliding with flesh, and feet lashing out at bone—they used whatever was possible.

It wasn't a clean fight. It was a pure and simple dirty fight. Sweat, blood, and if this room hadn't been so clean, grime perhaps too.

"Come on, Max! You can do better than that!" Pierce shouted as he bent over to recover from Max's kick to his shin.

Max cursed, kneeing the agent in the face.

Blood spewed from Pierce's nose, splattering onto the white floor. Pierce grabbed his nose as the blood rushed past his fingers. It didn't frighten the agent to see that much blood. It delighted him.

Max didn't even notice the blood, not at first. He had so much fury coursing through him that he just wanted to hurt this man who tortured him so. He wanted this man to suffer.

His rage now controlled him.

Pierce got up and rubbed the blood between his fingers. It was red, smooth, thicker than water, and metallic-tasting. It was beautiful.

Max jumped onto his back, but Pierce flipped Max over his head, throwing him to the ground. He grabbed Max's face, clenching his fingers around his cheeks, leaving bloody fingerprints, and slammed his head into the wall.

Max groaned as the blinding pain overwhelmed him. Pierce punched him in the stomach not once, but several times. He pushed him down to his knees, pulling back Max's head and gripping him by the arm.

How many fights had Max ever been in? None. He may have the physique that most high school boys wished they had, but with no experience in fighting, it wasn't much he could do.

"It's so easy," Piece said, running his red fingers along Max's neck. He smiled at the drag marks. The red on the boy's skin fascinated him. Even though he was the only one gushing a large amount of blood, he knew who won this fight. His blood on Max was like a sign of him owning him. "It's so easy to just snap your neck."

Max looked up and spat whatever blood was in his mouth at Pierce's face. "Do it," he dared.

The agent closed his eyes and clenched his teeth together. "That's the second time you spit at me!" he roared. He shoved Max to the ground and began to kick him.

"Big," he emphasized with each kick, "Mistake."

It was true—Pierce didn't pick a fight just because Max had spat at him earlier. He just wanted to hurt the boy. But being spat at twice was enough to send any man over the edge. Now, Pierce just wanted to release his anger on the alien.

He kicked till Max stopped struggling for a moment. Still—Max was very still. Pierce waited and watched as the boy slowly began to move, to make signs of life, and turned over and clutched his stomach with a groan..

It wasn't enough.

He took a hold of Max's arm, lifting it at an angle. He then brought his foot on the boy's arm, satisfied when he heard the bone crunching like tree twigs. A nice, loud crunch.

"AHHHHHHHHHHH!" Max screamed, trying to pull his burning arm away.

The pain, it was too much.

Yes, that is what Pierce wanted. The screams, the blood—that was enough.

* * *

**To be continued**.

Review please! =]


	8. Chapter 7 The Mind Games That Utilitaria

**Warnings:** This chapter contains content that may be offensive such as cursing, torture and violence.  
**Disclaimer: **I do not own Roswell or any other character, location, or whatever mentioned in the works of Melinda Metz or created by Jason Katims, FOX, WB, and UPN.

**  
Author's Note: **There are lines and scenes taken from "The White Room" (Season 1, Episode 20).

I made a fan video for this fanfic. Check it out: youtube(dot)com/watch?v=gs2IuFuds94 OR at bamvidvault(dot)ning(dot)com/profile/kyliemou. It's called "Animal." =]

* * *

**Chapter 7 – The Mind-Games That ****Utilitarians**** Would Be Proud Of**:

**  
Utilitarianism** _– is the idea that the moral worth of an action is determined solely by its contribution to overall utility: that is, its contribution to happiness or pleasure as summed among all people. It is thus a form of consequentialism, meaning that the moral worth of an action is determined by its outcome. It is the "greatest good for the greatest number of people." _

* * *

Max couldn't fight back.

His left arm was useless in the white arm cast. He could move his fingers without too much pain now, but he had to keep movement to a minimal if he ever wanted to use his arm again. He was healing up pretty fast, but he had always recovered quickly. It was an alien thing.

It seemed even though the agent broke his arm, he wanted Max to have full use of it. He still couldn't figure out why though. One broken arm would only mean he couldn't fight back as much. That he would lose the ability to use his powers in left arm. He wouldn't be able to fight with just one good arm. He would be rendered useless.

But Max would never ask Pierce why he even bothered getting a physician to encase his arm. Was it to keep Max in a usable condition, and if so why? Was it so the world wouldn't see just how hideous the torture inflicted on him was? If only the media could get a whiff of this operation, there would be an uproar around the world. His alien origin be damned. They would focus on the fact that he was mistreated. But of course, there will always be those who agree with the experiments. They would see it as for the good of the world. They as in people like Pierce.

"Your powers are not your real weakness, is it?" Agent Pierce asked.

Another day in the chair. It never seemed to end. Max was never going to talk. Pierce could see that. Humans would talk, but not aliens. These aliens were tough; Pierce knew that. For more than fifty years, this agency had been studying these creatures that threatened humanity. They captured, experimented, and they never received the answers they wanted. But they had to keep trying. This agency had to stop these monsters from colonizing _their_ planet.

"That's right," he said with a nod to himself. "You know, I've been going about this the wrong way the whole time."

Max watched silently the agent circle him through the red screen of the head gear Pierce placed on his head. Everything in his sight was red, and he could hear the faint humming from the virtual reality visor. Despite the color, he could see the dark bruising on Pierce's face. A dark splotch on the man's upper right cheek from Max's fist. A swollen and purplish hue on his nose from Max's knee. A small cut on the left side of his lip. Even when Pierce moved, his jaw clenched, showing Max just how badly he had hurt him back. Max smirked. In a fight, Max clearly lost but seeing the man battered was rewarding in more ways than he could think.

"It's not that you're part alien; it's that you're part human."

Max's eyebrow rose in surprise. Pierce always repeated that Max was an alien, that he wasn't human, but now he was saying he was. What changed?

"I'm _all_ human," gritted Max.

Pierce remained stern. He held a small remote in his hand and then he clicked a button on it.

"You have feelings," he spoke.

The visor whirred and an image came up in the visor.

_Michael_, Max thought. He was being shown a picture of his best friend. _Michael, I hope you're keeping everyone safe. Keep them away from here. Don't come for me. This man, he's a monster. He'll kill all of you._ Max knew his best friend couldn't hear him, but he tried regardless. _God, I don't even want to think about this, but you're in charge now. You're in charge and if anything should happen to me, I have faith that you'll do right by them._

"Emotions."

An image of his sister appeared.

_Isabel. Oh god, I know how you must feel. Scared, vulnerable, alone... But you're not alone. You have Michael, Alex, Liz, and Maria. They'll be there for you. You just have to let them in. Don't you understand? All our lives we were afraid to let people in—and that was one of our rules—but could you ever imagine that we would have friends? They're here for you. You just have to learn to trust them. I did and I don't regret it. You have to be strong through this, Isabel. You have to be strong for my sake, for your sake._

"Friendship."

The visor buzzed again. It was a picture of his friends.

_Alex, protect Isabel. Comfort her. She may not show it, but she needs you now more than anything. It's strange but I think you alone understand her. She'll push you away again and again, but I know you're not the type of person who will give up. Keep persisting, Alex; she'll let you in. Same goes for you, Maria. Michael needs you to keep his head steady. As different as you two are, I know you can stop him from doing something crazy. He listens to you. Oh god. Before you two, I never had friends. Thank you so much for your friendship. It means a lot to me. The fact that you would accept us for who we are, what we are, means more to us than you could ever possibly imagine._

"You love."

_Love_, Max thought.

The visor gave a dreaded hum, and suddenly an image of Liz appeared.

It was as if time slowed down. A pause. A beat.

The sight of Liz caused his heart to beat faster. There was a familiar rumbling in his stomach. Her hair glowed. Her eyes watching him. She was smiling at him.

Max almost smiled back, but he had to remain emotionless. He couldn't let Pierce see how he felt about her. He watched Liz. She continued to smile at him. It was as if she was right in front of him. He shuddered. Her smile gave him hope. She was the only reason he was still alive and fighting.

_Liz, I never told you this before, but I love you. I've loved you for so long. My rule was to never let anyone in, not even my adopted mother. No one could know about us. But that day in third grade, when I stepped off the bus and saw you, I just knew that I would never be the same. I could handle the idea of never being your friend, of never being someone more to you. It was all to keep you safe... from me, from all of this. Do you know how much I loved science class? It was because I got to sit next to you, to talk to you. It was the only interaction we would have... until... God, Liz, I am so sorry for bringing you into this mess. If I had known, I... No, I can't say that. I still would have saved you that day. Oh god, I would do everything now so differently though._

He could just watch this image forever. He could survive on this image of his beautiful Liz alone.

Then the picture changed.

He gently pulled against the chair's binds, wanting to see the image again. She gave him such peace, such happiness.

Then alarm filled him. Liz was no longer smiling. This image... Oh god, this image! Liz was lying face down in a dark alleyway while someone gripped her by the hair, revealing her face to him. She had blood all over her face. Her lips were cut. Her eyes bruised. She was battered like he was. She made no movement. Her chest wasn't rising. She was dead.

Liz was dead.

_Dead. _

_ Dead. _

_ Liz was dead. _

_ Dead. Liz. _

_ LIZZZZZZZZZZ!_

Max tried to hurled his body out of the chair, and if the chair hadn't been screwed to the ground, Max would've slammed into Pierce with such strength that the agent could have broken another rib or two.

The screams that left his mouth almost horrified Agent Pierce. He hadn't heard Max scream that way before, not even when he was burning and cutting into the boy's skin. Not even when he was electrocuting him. This scream was beyond pain. It was beyond anything he had ever heard of. It was almost... animal-like.

The chair rattled. The screws had been hurriedly screwed in so the chair rocked against the hinges.

Max Evans was crazy. He was delirious with anger. Rage filled him. He continued to pull against the bindings on the chair, not caring if he would break his bones in the process.

Pierce gripped him from behind by the shoulders and tried to get the boy to settle down.

"MAX, MAX!" he screamed, trying to get his attention.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Max howled.

""Trick photography!"

"NO! NO, NO, NO!" Max continued to thrash.

"Computer rigged, Max! It's not real! Virtual reality!"

Max panted. Desperate sobs left his mouth as Pierce's words began to sink in.

"It's not real. We didn't kill her," Pierce repeated over and over again until the alien calmed down.

_It's not real._

_ They didn't kill her._

_ She's still alive. _

_ Alive and well. _

_ Oh god, Liz. _

_ Liz, my love._

"I just wanted to show you what can happen. What will happen."

Max shook his head; tears streaming down his face. "You're evil."

"Tell me where the other one is."

"The other what?" he asked with his head hung low.

The agent took an object out from his pocket. "We found this in the crash. We have spent fifty years looking for the other one, and we know you have it."

_The orb. Pierce had the other orb_.

"It took a little persuading, but Topolsky told us. Tell me where it is."

"I don't know," Max choked out.

"Okay. I'm going to give you a choice, Max," he said, putting the orb back into his pocket. "You can either tell me where the other orb is, or you can tell me which one of your friends you want me to kill first."

Max's eyes snapped towards the man. He wouldn't! He couldn't!

"Who do you want me to kill first, Max?" Pierce asked him again.

The agent circled him. "Michael?"

"Maybe your sister, Isabel?"

Max watched him silently.

"Alex? Maria?"

Pierce smirked as Max turned away from him.

"What about Liz Parker?"

He watched as Max's eyes snap back to him. Ah, yes—Liz Parker. "Yeah, maybe I'll start with her first. What do you think about that, Max?"

Max bared his teeth and let out a growl that could not be human.

Yes, Pierce found his way to break Max Evans, the alien.

* * *

**To be continued**.


	9. Chapter 8 The Liquid Fire That Destroyed

**Warnings:** This chapter contains content that may be offensive such as cursing, murder, sex, and violence.  
**Disclaimer: **I do not own Roswell or any other character, location, or whatever mentioned in the works of Melinda Metz or created by Jason Katims, FOX, WB, and UPN.

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Author's Note: **I made a fan video for this fanfic. Check it out: youtube(dot)com/watch?v=gs2IuFuds94 OR at bamvidvault(dot)ning(dot)com/profile/kyliemou. It's called "Animal." =]

School is starting up this week for me. I don't think I will be able to post once a week anymore. I'll do my best though, at least once every two weeks. Sorry!

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**Chapter 8 – The Liquid Fire That Destroyed Dylan Thomas**:

_**  
Dylan Thomas**__ – was a Welsh poet and writer in the Modern Period. Thomas was an alcoholic, starting from an early age after being influenced by his parents' history of drinking. Hard liquor was his choice. In the final years of his life, his health deteriorated, dramatically exacerbated by his heavy smoking and drinking. It is believed by many that Thomas had drank himself to death and got alcohol poisoning._

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Pierce smirked. Max thought he was so smart, but he had another thing coming. He thought he could get away by playing like he didn't know any better, thought Pierce didn't know about his life. Wrong. Pierce knew everything about his life. He knew just how important family and friends were to Max Evans. But Pierce hadn't realized how much Max loved this human girl, Liz Parker.

After the stunt he pulled by showing Max an image of Liz's dead body, he knew he found the way to break this alien. Max Evans didn't even react when he asked who of his family and friends to kill. But when he asked if he should kill Liz, Max came to life. His eyes flashed, his teeth bared at him like an animal, his hands balled into fists.

_Oh, it's so easy now_, Pierce thought.

The door flew back with a hiss. A small breeze of air, not fresh but not stale either, came in. It smelled better than the air that Max had been breathing in. His room smelled like wet mold, like something that was never given the chance to dry properly.

Two technicians came strolling in as if they had a good day.

Max could only back into a corner, fearing whatever new inevitable assault they had planned for him. And the worse was he couldn't stop it, no matter how hard he tried.

The men forced him into the oh so familiar chair and he was once again trapped. The idea of being in that chair, the knowledge of knowing he would only suffer immense pain—it was just as painful as the acts themselves.

Beads of sweat already started forming on his temple. Anticipation. Fear. He was caught in between whether to fight to break free from the chair or to just sit and take what they were going to do to him. But the metal cuffs on his wrists, ankles, and over his waist forced him to choose the latter.

One technician held a bottle while the other tapped his cheek with a gloved finger, signaling him to open his mouth. Max could've sworn he saw a smirk underneath that white mask. His lips remained shut.

The white gloved hands then gripped him by the cheeks, forcing his lips opened apart. The other began to pour the liquid into his mouth.

Max gurgled, resisting to swallow. It was strong. Bitter. He spat out what he could.

"Don't fight it, Max. Unless you want me to forcefully pump it into your stomach again?" Agent Pierce asked through a speaker.

His throat involuntarily clenched at the idea of having another tube down his throat. It had been painful the first time. He didn't want to go through that again. The constant feeling of wanting to choke and throw up at the same time wrecked havoc on his mental state. All he could do was lay back, cry, and think, _and think_ as he was force-fed. His own thoughts were a danger to him at that point.

Obedient, he began to sip it, and then soon gulped the mysterious fluid down. More and more came. It seemed never to end.

The liquid burned his throat. Cool liquid that soon turned into heat. It burned his empty stomach and settled in his stomach like warm malt.

The fuel-scented liquid stopped flowing in his mouth. It felt as if he had drunk a whole meal. The technicians took off the cuffs and left. The light in the room dimmed.

Max slowly got up, gripping onto the armrest as he coughed. Practically heaved.

Heavy. He felt so heavy. And dizzy.

The room spun. This was worse than the injection they had given him. At least a hundred times.

They had given him alcohol.

He tried to get off the chair but found himself only collapsing back into the seat. Alcohol—is this how it affected aliens? Could aliens not process alcohol? Max had never had any before so he never knew.

Fuzzy. Swirls of colors blended together. Walls that seemed to never stop spinning around him. His stomach lurched.

Then a dark figure walked towards him among the chaos he saw. Dark-haired and light-skinned. Petite. Female. This person wasn't a technician. She wasn't dressed in white, but in normal clothing—jeans and a tank top.

She reminded him of... of Liz. Her face became clearer even though the background seemed to blur further.

Liz—it was Liz!

_No, that's not possible_, he thought. _Liz isn't here. Liz is safe. Safe in Roswell. Safe with Isabel and Michael. She's not!_

She knelt down in front of him with a smile.

"Max," she spoke.

He sputtered her name. _Oh god, Liz_. He reached out and touched her. She was warm under her fingers. She felt alive.

"Liz?" he questioned in disbelief.

She couldn't be here. It wasn't possible. He was just seeing things. Drunk; that's it. He had to be drunk. Or dreaming. Either way, Liz was not here!

"Oh god, Max, I missed you so much," she cried, burying her face into his lap as her arms came around his waist.

He caught a familiar scent of her perfume. Her tears soaked through his cotton pants. She was here. She was real. He gripped her by the arms and pulled her to him.

"Liz, oh god! Liz, I missed you. Oh god, I missed you."

He felt her breath against his neck.

"No, you have to escape. You can't be here, Liz. Pierce, he'll kill you!"

"Max, no! I won't go anywhere without you!"

"But—"

"No, Max! You and me—we belong together, no matter what. I love you, Max."

Those four letter words—_"I love you, Max"_—brought him such joy.

"I love you, Liz. I love you so much, more than you know," he cried, burying his face into her hair.

Other than the perfume, he realized Liz didn't smell like Liz. There was something off about her smell, but it was her. It had to be. Her face stared back at him.

"God, Liz! How did they grab you? Why are you here? Oh god, you have to go."

She shook her head. "It's too late, Max. I'm here. I'm with you."

She pressed her lips against his.

He stiffened. It didn't feel right, but he couldn't help but kiss back. His fingers held onto her gently. Soft, hesitant kisses that soon turned desperate.

"Liz, we can't," he said when he felt her fingers tug at his pants.

"Please, Max. Don't deny me. I thought I lost you. I thought I would never get a chance to do this with you. Please," she pleaded. Her fingers slipped past the waistband and softly stroked him.

Max choked, feeling his penis get harder. This was wrong. They can't do this, but god, the pleasure he felt overwhelmed him. It was like a clear difference between the pain he endured these many months. When had he felt pleasure? It had been too long.

He watched as her petite fingers run up and down his organ. How many times had he pictured Liz doing this to him? How many times had he imagined it was Liz's hands that brought him ecstasy?

He buried his fingers into her hair, gripping lightly, not enough to hurt. She smiled as he choked out her name. His body trembled.

"Let go, Max. Let go," she whispered, brushing a kiss on his thigh.

Her fingers tightened, increasing speed.

It didn't take long. Watching his penis enveloped in her small hand, watching her smear the pre-cum across the entire tip pushed him over.

As he groaned his release, Liz quickly took a vial and captured his seed.

Max pushed back violently in alarm, pushing her away.

"Liz?"

She stiffened and then got up and walked to the door, where Agent Pierce was waiting.

"Good job, Agent Walker," said Pierce with a nod.

"Thanks, boss," she said, disappearing past the doors.

Max watched silently.

It wasn't Liz. It was someone who looked like Liz.

God, how had he mixed her up with someone else? She seemed so real, so Liz-like.

Disgusted with himself, he bent over and hurled.

Pierce snickered with a snort.

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**To be continued**.


	10. Chapter 9 The Exploitation of NIMH’s Dia

**Warnings:** This chapter contains content that may be offensive such as cursing, murder, sex, and violence.  
**Disclaimer: **I do not own Roswell or any other character, location, or whatever mentioned in the works of Melinda Metz or created by Jason Katims, FOX, WB, and UPN.

**Author's Note: **Sorry for the lapse in posting. My only excuses are school and lack of motivation to write. :( I'll try to get the next chapter up as soon as I can.

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**Chapter 9 – The Exploitation of NIMH's Diagnosed Phobias**:

_**  
National Institute of Mental Health (NIMH)**__ – is the largest scientific organization in the world, dedicated to mental health research. Their stated mission is to reduce the burden of mental illness and behavioral disorders through research on mind, brain and behavior._

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Pierce strolled to the corridor where Max was being held with a cup of hot black coffee in his hand. He peered through the glass, satisfied that Max was still in the chair.

"How long has it been?" he asked the scientist next to him.

Max Evans was unique. Not because he was an alien, but because he was strong. He had the qualities of a leader who would take action. He would give up his life to save another in a second. If Max hadn't been an alien, he could have had a great career in the law enforcement field. Pierce saw that, and he wanted to use it. He was going to turn Max—train him to be the best, to be one of him, to be on their side.

The man in the white lab coat didn't even look up from his clipboard to acknowledge Agent Pierce's presence. His pen scratched against the paper, jotting down notes. He could feel the agent glaring at him when he realized he should probably answer the agent. Lord knows what Pierce would do to him if he thought he was ignoring him on purpose! _Jeez, there's a reason why I became a scientist rather than a public speaker_, he thought. He glanced quickly at his watch. "About six hours," he replied before going back to his notes.

"Really?" Pierce said, quite surprised. Six hours really was a long time. He didn't want to admit it, but even six hours was too much for him.

He remembered how the alien had screamed after the first hour. Just screaming and babbling.

_"Evil! You're evil! All of you!" Max shouted as he pulled against the contraption._

_ Pierce spoke into the microphone. "Max, when will you ever learn? I'm not the evil one here."_

_ "It's not real! I know it's not real!"_

_ "If it's not, then why are you crying?"_

_ "STOP IT! STOOOOPPPPPP ITTTTTTTTT!"_

_ "This is all for Liz's sake. You do what I tell you to do, what I want you to do, and she'll be safe. Remember Max, I'm not evil. You're the one that's not from this world. You're the alien pretending to be a normal teenage kid."_

_ Max made a noise that sounded to be like a whimper, like a child trying to hide from the monsters under his bed. "Please... Please, stop it." And those words fell from his lips over and over again, like a prayer._

That was just the first hour. Five hours later, the boy sat in the chair, watching. His words practically incoherent with shock and distress.

Pierce sipped his coffee and made a 'hmph' noise.

Max was ready to throw up. He had heaved before, but nothing came out. Nothing but dry coughs, stomach lurches, and spit. It all dribbled down his chin, down his thin shirt, and pooled in his lap. He was truly sick down to the core.

How long had he been sitting in this chair?

How long had the screen continued to flash?

The reel never ended. It just repeated more images, never letting him forget the previous ones.

_"MAX!"_ Her voice cried out in the film. _"MAX, HELP ME!"_

Her haunting screams forced choking sobs out of him.

He watched as she was tortured just like he was.

Burned. Lit cigarettes pushed into her arms.

Cut. Gleaming knives slit across her legs.

Electrocuted. Wires were hooked up to her body.

Shot. She rested on her knees, looking up as if she was surrendering to death.

He watched as she was sexually assaulted! As she thrashed into her attacker's arms, as her clothes were ripped away from her, as the man plundered her body over and over again. Her screams stopping and then her face becoming blank. Lifeless.

He couldn't look away. It wasn't because he didn't want to. It was because he couldn't.

The eye speculum forced him to keep watching. The tiny clamps held back his eye lids, preventing him from blinking. The head gear forced his head to face the screen.

No, he couldn't look away.

He knew Liz was safe. He knew this wasn't her. It was all virtual reality.

But it felt so real. Real like Liz had actually been with him, like Liz had been the one who jerked him off.

It was all fake, but even this falseness sickened him. He couldn't not cry out.

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**To be continued**.

Feedback reminds me to post more chapters!


	11. Chapter 10 The Metamorphosis

**Warnings:** This chapter contains content that may be offensive such as cursing, murder, sex, and violence.  
**Disclaimer: **I do not own Roswell or any other character, location, or whatever mentioned in the works of Melinda Metz or created by Jason Katims, FOX, WB, and UPN.

**Author's Note: **I can only apologize for the lateness of this chapter. A lot has happened since the last post. I finished all of my final projects at the end of May, and just yesterday, I graduated from college! :D Woo hoo, I finished.

I'm going to be honest with you all: I've hit a rut with this story. I can't seem to find the motivation to continue it, and I don't even have the next chapter written. I don't want to abandon this story either. I'm determined to see its end, but I don't know how long that will be. Ideally, I have about eight more chapters to go; now it's just the matter of writing them. So the next chapter will come when it comes. Hopefully I'll have more time to focus on this story since I have nothing to do now. Haha! :) Enjoy!

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**Chapter 10 – The Metamorphosis**:

_**Metamorphosis**__ – is the biological process by which an animal physically develops after birth of hatching, involving a conspicuous and relatively abrupt change in the animal's body structure through cell growth and differentiation._

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Rage. Hate. It all consumed him. He wanted to hurt. He wanted to maim. To kill. He wanted to feel blood running down his arms as he slashed, beat, and kicked. He wanted... death.

His alien origins... His _unnatural_ origins brought him this suffering.

If Max Evans had been conceived and born human, he would not be here. He would have friends. He would join a sports team. He could be with Liz Parker without any complications. He could live freely. The only thing he would ever have to worry about is college and his future career.

No.

He had to be born an alien. Born a monster. Born a creature that even humans can't fathom. He had to be a royal King of a crumbled empire. He had to be reincarnated so he could come back and lead his people back to safety. He had to have the world resting on his shoulders. He had to have fear twenty-four-seven in his life. He had to protect Isabel and Michael. He had to clean up after their messes. He had to have responsibilities that a seventeen year old boy shouldn't have.

No one would ever understand how he felt. All this weight on his shoulders. It made his back hunch downwards, threatening to bring him to his knees. If he ever heard anyone say they felt like an alien in their own body, he would only scoff because he _was_ an alien. And because of that, he was captured and tortured.

Aliens.

Just the word sickened him now. All he wanted to be now was human. He wanted to be good. He wanted to be clean. He wanted to not be considered an abomination on Earth. He wanted to be free.

How long had he been in this room? This white room? Time was lost on him, but he had learned his lessons.

Lesson 1: Answer all questions as truthfully as possible.

Lesson 2: Do as you're told.

He was asked questions even he didn't know the answer to. And because he refused to answer, he was bound and electrocuted.

Lesson 3: Be thankful with what you're given.

He was starved and fed only morsels of food, enough to keep him alive. No matter how much he resisted, knowing those foods were laced with poison to his _foreign_ bodily system, a plastic tube found its way down his throat, pumping what he would not eat into his stomach. He was bathed like a filthy animal. Hosed down, not even good enough to have a proper bath.

Lesson 4: There is no such thing as innocence.

He was drowned and whipped repeatedly, falsely accused of killing an agent. The only thing he could do was scream and proclaim his innocence. This failed.

Lesson 5: Feeling pain and disgust is futile. Just give in and embrace. Do not resist.

He had his bones broken and healed only to be broken again. He lost his nails for fighting back. He was molested. Touched under false pretenses.

Lesson 6: There is no such thing as love because it will only bring you pain. Being close to others will only bring you down.

Liz. He watched her go under the same torture techniques Agent Pierce used on him. Was she even alive?

And finally, lesson 7: Aliens are evil. They are scum and deserve to be annihilated.

He shuddered at the word: Extra-terrestrial.

They were disgusting creatures. They were monsters.

_He_ was a monster.

Agent Pierce walked in, noticing Max sitting in the corner. The teenager lifted his blank eyes to him. Pierce smiled. "How are you feeling today, Mr. Evans?"

Max's lip rose, showing a hint of sharp teeth. "Satisfactory," he growled out.

"Are you an alien, Max Evans?" the agent asked.

He stiffened. Lesson 1: Answer all questions as truthfully as possible and do as you're told. He answered, "Yes."

Pierce felt a surge of triumph rise inside of him.

He stepped closer to Max, taking a swiss army knife out of his pocket. He pressed the blade against Max's arm. He saw no trace of fear on Max's face. He then softly traced the alien's veins with the tip. "Would you cut yourself if I asked you to?" he asked quietly.

Max looked at the blade and then at Agent Pierce. Lesson 3: Give and embrace pain; do not resist. Lesson 2: Do as you're told.

"Yes," he answered.

Pierce smiled and placed the knife in Max's hand. He was confident that the alien would not dare hurt him.

Max felt the light weapon in his hand. As he stared blankly at the agent, he dragged the blade of the knife against his arm, leaving a thin bloody red line. His face didn't even grimace or flinch in pain. Instead, he felt alive and in control. It was him who was doing this, not them. They couldn't hurt him anymore.

Agent Pierce had done it. He had broken Max Evans, the alien.

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**To be continued**.

Feedback reminds me to write the next chapter!


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